I Want a Happy Ending
In the few memories, James Freeman had of his father the old bastard was leering down with a ghoulish glint mumbling something sinister or depressing between spits of phlegm and tobacco juice. Just because you want to die, Jimmy boy, don't mean your body will let you. That had been one of the old man's all-time favorites. Lately, it haunted James's every living moment. He was the executioner now and the only one he really wanted to kill was himself. But that would send him to hell the Reverend Johnson constantly admonished him. The Reverend and Mrs. Johnson were among the few people that still talked to him.
Elizabeth certainly wouldn't speak to him even when he begged her to take his food for the sake of Tommy Barret's baby. Governor Phillips's housekeeper, Deborah, became his salvation. She took Elizabeth all the pork, fish and bread he could scrounge swearing they were the Governor's scraps. At least, he could fulfill some of the promises he made.
He almost had to a hang an innocent woman when Kitty McVitie stabbed Major Ross. Luckily Mrs. Johnson was able to convince Kitty to plead her belly which delayed that. Deborah said a delay gave them time for the law to change or the Governor to be persuaded to change things. According to Captain Collins he had the option of pardon and well, a lot of the soldiers weren't happy about how Ross had poached an enlisted man's woman.
"But, it's only a few months," James had lamented.
"No, we'll have over a year. They cannot hang a nursing mother if it leaves the baby to starve." Deborah explained.
He hadn't thought of that. There were a lot of things Deborah and Mrs. Johnson thought up that never occurred to him.
Then a Dutch ship ran aground on their beach. The crew was mostly dead from typhus, but the hull was filled with rice, pork, and something called breadfruit. It meant salvation though James still felt damned even though his material circumstances quickly changed to the best he had ever had in his life. They didn't let him work too close to the other prisoners for fear someone would take his life. Mostly he built rooms unto the Governor's mansion. It would have been a farmhouse in England. Here it was a palace. He slept there too now locked in a cupboard because Private Buckley wasn't capable of guarding him all the time. He had a water bucket and rag blankets to sleep on, but sometimes it was actually nice , especially when it was raining or when Deborah and he took their meals together at the kitchen table.
He had never been so close to a lady before. Once she told him she wasn't quite the class to be called a lady, but James knew she was oceans away from the gutter he came from. Deborah's father had been a clergyman with daughters too numerous to even try saving dowries for them. She had been lucky to be pretty enough for a naval lieutenant who volunteered for Cape Town hoping to make a better life for both of them. At least, the man seemed to deserve her though she didn't talk about her husband. Instead, she asked him questions about his life before. He had heard of posh bucks that had a fascination with the lowlife, but that didn't seem to be the case with Deborah. She wanted to know about the lives of the poor and criminal and not just out of morbid curiosity. He had figured it out quick that she had Governor Philip's ear in a way neither Reverend Jones nor Major Ross could compete. She helped the convicts a lot more than the Reverend did.
She taught him to read and that opened the doorway into a freedom he never thought would be his. He made a good show of studying the Bible or Pilgrim's Progress when Governor Philip or Reverend Jones was around, but secretly preferred Don Quixote and anything by Henry Fielding.
"Why didn't you finish, Clarissa?" Deborah asked.
"Because Lovelace is a bastard. He's going to rape her and I don't want to read about it." He said.
Her eyes went round. "How did you know?"
"I know people. Whether they are fancy gentleman or dockside pimps, there can still be the same monster lurking inside." He explained.
Her eyes became treacle. "James Freeman, you are an unpolished gem."
"Why do you call me, James?" He had wondered about that for weeks.
She looked puzzled now. "Isn't that your name?"
"It is, but most people call me Jimmie," he said.
"Jimmie is a boy's name. You're a man." She said.
Her words burned deep into his chest. A man, not a convict. He had never felt so honored before.
Of course, the larger house had one unfortunate disadvantage. He had always wondered why Captain Collins never took a woman. After the Captain moved into one of the new rooms in the Governor's house, he found out why. At Deborah's insistence, they let him roam rather free as long as the windows were drawn. He hadn't heard those sounds; the wet slapping of hard muscles against coarse flesh, the heavy breathing, and grunts too crude to be a man and woman, since prison. But no sane man every forgot those sounds. Sometimes he wondered about how Captain Collins felt. Of course, maybe it was anything for a promotion. He made it his business to do the Captain's laundry because he didn't want Deborah exposed to such depravity.
It was a life of sorts even if nine-hundred convicts wanted him dead. He had better place to sleep than he ever had before, a steady supply of food, and a lady to talk to in the way that really mattered to keep a person sane. And if he just had to hear another human voice he could listen to Private Buckley's self-pitying whines. Christ in Heaven, Buckley seemed to be even more despised in the colony than him. Even his brother soldiers barely tolerated the man.
Then the world shifted again. Major Ross lost even more influence with Governor Philip. Tommy's widow, Elizabeth. married the blacksmith, Will Stubbins, a man in a very good position to take care of her and the baby and more than glad to declare himself dead to a first wife who had already deserted him. James had known since the day he hanged Tommy she would never feel anything more than hate for him, but the marriage was a final severing raw and jagged. It reminded him that his father was right, no matter how bad his life was, things could always get worse. When he returned from watching the wedding and Buckley was dismissed, Deborah smiled and offered him a pewter tumbler of wine.
"It's the good Madeira from the Dutch ship. I asked Governor Philip for some and he was most generous." She said.
He took the tumbler eagerly, but noticed her other hand was empty. "You never drink. I always wondered why. I know the Governor would share whatever he has with you."
"It burns my throat," she explained.
He wasn't trying to corrupt her or addle her senses when he held out the glass, it was simply the impulse to share something good with the one person he had found to be a good. "Madeira's much more gentle on the throat. It reminds me of summer at its best."
She took a sip and then a long swallow that brought a smile to her face. "It is the best of summer's grapes." She held the tumbler out.
He pushed it back toward her. "Keep it. It's too rich for the likes of me."
She smiled. "Then pour yourself three fingers of rum. I'll make certain Governor Philip does not miss it."
He had sat drinking with women before, but that had been in taverns or brothels, not the kitchen of the Governor's mansion and never with the company of any as fine as the lady with him now. She fascinated him. How small and delicate her facial bones were, though he knew the iron she was made from. And her eyes, well no eyes had ever gazed so kindly at him. She was nothing like the tavern girls, prostitutes, or molls he had consorted with before, but his body was beginning to think about her like any man's would and that was dangerous. He should get up from the table and go back to his closet. Except this time was so perfect, so wonderfully nice, pure and clean he couldn't tear himself away from her.
"I'm sorry Elizabeth didn't choose you, James. You are a good man and I know you cared for her." she said.
"Stubbins does too and he'll take care of her. All the affection he had for his previous wife he'll transfer to Elizabeth because that man was made for endless devotion." He said.
"I suppose it is possible a man can be so. After all, your friend Tommy was willing to hang for his lover." Then her face fell. "I'm sorry. I should not have referred to Tommy so casually. I did not intend to cause you pain."
He found himself smiling instead of feeling sad. He had never had a woman of quality care about his feelings let alone feel she needed to attempt an apology. But he couldn't let her do that. "I don't believe you would ever do anything to cause me pain."
He was way too close to her. Less than a hand width separated their faces. He couldn't resist. He was a bee. She was a flower and her sweet scent overpowered any rum at intoxicating him. Then he crossed the point of no return. His lips touched hers and swept him into typhoon of roses, silk and sin. And was this ever a sin! A married woman was in his arms. Pick-pocketing was nothing. It had been survival. This was breaking at least two commandments with a good and moral woman that had never done anything, but kindness to him. They were on the table. Her hands went inside his trousers and drew his manhood out. That shocked him for a moment. But he remembered she wasn't a virgin. She was a married woman used to enjoying the pleasures of her husband's body. Except her husband was in Cape Town. She probably missed him dearly. Probably missed the sex too. Was that why she was doing this? Plenty of married women sought out any port in a storm. She moaned the name James just as her teeth clamped down his neck. Her distant husband had nothing to do with what they were sharing. Sharing? Yes, that was the right word. This wasn't shagging a whore against a wall. This woman wanted to be with him! He took a moment to steady himself and joined with her.
Their bodies were fire and powder and the inferno consumed him. This was like nothing he ever known. And it wasn't the softness of her skin or the sweetness of her cries that made it different. This felt holy even if it was the most unholy act he ever committed. It felt like what Tommy and Elizabeth had shared, what should be shared between man and wife, but she wasn't his wife. Didn't stop him from loving her though. And realizing he loved, real and true, gave him a burst of will power necessary to spare her the risk of their transgression being discovered. Summoning all his strength, he pulled away and grabbed a tea towel to finish off.
Deborah burst into tears as a decent married woman naturally would upon realizing the vows she had just broken. James had heard of woman that walked into the sea or threw themselves off cliffs after being so compromised. He couldn't risk such happening to her. "That was all my sin and none yours. The rum inflamed my lust and I took advantage of you. You are innocent."
She stifled her tears. "Oh, James, you're the innocent." She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe her eyes.
"I didn't come inside you. There's very little risk you'll be with child." He said.
Her expression grew more sad. "There is no risk whatsoever. I have been married nearly twelve years and I have never been with child. That's why my husband went to Cape Town. He hopes to get a convict woman pregnant. If I am lucky I will be able to raise their bastard."
Your husband is the only bastard in that situation. He hoped whatever convict woman her husband tried to breed with cut off the bastard's balls. He wanted to pummel her husband into a bloody pulp for torturing Deborah with such a proposal. As much as he wanted to reassure her mind that she would not be caught with child from his mistake, he wanted to comfort her sadness over a childless marriage also. "Barrenness is not always because of the woman. Some man are no more fertile than mules."
Her hand came down on his. "You are kinder than many gentlemen, James."
He pulled his hand away fast. "This will never happen again. I swear it. I'll move back to the convict's quarters and let them end my life before I'll risk corrupting you."
She got up from the table. Tears were leaking from her eyes again. A pit formed in his chest. He knelt penitent in front of her. "This was not your sin. It was all my own doing and no one will ever know. I swear before God and all that is holy to die before letting that happen."
Her fingertips touched his forehead. A burning blessing, but her eyes were pits of despair. "No one is innocent. But you are right. This cannot happen again. Please go to your room."
He was grateful for the smallness of the closet. The confined space reminded him of the prison he belonged inside. Fuck it all! He could never stop screwing up. He hung the best friend he ever had. Now he had just jeopardized the life of the only lady who had ever looked at him without scorn in her eyes. He slammed both fists into the hard native wood and the pain felt good. Pain was what he needed. He wanted anything, but what he knew was coming next. Then it happened and tears rolled down his check. This was worse than Tommy hanging. This was worse than his parents dying. He had killed his whole world this time.
The next morning, Deborah was chilly and distant. No smile for him, but that was right. It was how it had to be because they could never risk becoming too close again. Two weeks later the ship arrived from Cape Town with a year's worth of provisions, more convicts, and a letter for Deborah. Her husband had died from measles seven months ago.